Drown Your Sorrows
by TheScotchlateHour
Summary: A tale of some the early citizens of Rapture, who's exepectations of Rapture were not met, and plot to leave. Rated M for language and adult situations.
1. Chapter 1

Regret.

Richard Stone did not regret many things, but the few things he did regret were so great that they overshadowed his joys and accomplishments. Both of them marred his life like a carton of rotted eggs in the pantry, the stench overwhelming and tainting all it came in contact with. Not that he had eggs in years, they came from the surface.

His first regret had been his patriotic fervour in the closing year of the war. He was finally eighteen years old in the fall of 1944 and he had enlisted, although he could have easily gotten a legitimate pass to continue his work at his father's factory, aptly named Stone and Sons, where he had been training as a draftsman. Richard wanted to earn the respect of his peers and his elders, and simply helping to design the turrets and tank treads that ground the Nazis in red paste wasn't enough. Richard had looked so dashing in his drab olive uniform. His bright blue eyes sparkled gaily and his bright blonde hair rakishly ignored the reality that Richard could die. After all, he believed himself to be invincible; he was young and handsome and charming, the talented son of a wealthy industrialist. Surely death and suffering was for the dregs, for the unwashed masses, not for the well-bred scion of a proud pedigree.

Battle knows no barriers of class and wealth, and Richard took half a dozen bullets to his left hip and thigh from a German machine gunner near Dorsten during the Allie's final push to Berlin. He had spent V-E day like he had spent the weeks leading up to it and the weeks afterwards-in an opiate haze and attended to by nurses. Efforts to save his leg were successful, although he had lost a considerable amount of muscle and flesh.

His wife, Dorothy, had married him the day before he shipped off. Her pretty face, with it's high cheekbones and coyly rounded mouth, had fallen when she saw that her dashing young husband was now a cripple with a morphine addiction. However, later that evening, when they retired to bed in their fashionable New York apartment, her face could not contain the horror when she beheld his naked wound. She had said in horror that it looked like someone had taken ice cream scoop and torn out chunks of his leg and hip.

Her words burned him, but he understood her revulsion for he felt it as well. His injuries were more than simply ugly. It affected nearly all aspects of his life-simply walking was a painful ordeal. Richard required a cane in order to hobble around the house sufficiently and he found it impossible to stand for longer than a few seconds. Injected morphine dulled the agony of rendered muscle enough for life to continue, but Richard quickly realized the stark fact that he was constantly requiring more and more painkillers just to be able to sit at his desk and work.

Lovemaking was, for all intents and purposes, impossible. Richard simply could not hold the position long enough without collapsing in agony and Dorothy refused to experiment with alternative methods, likening them to sodomy. Rejected by his wife and pitied by his friends, Richard threw himself into his work. He had nothing else to do with his time and the long hours of meticulous industrial drafting kept his mind off of the nearly constant pain, pain that oscillated between numb and fiery, depending on how badly Richard was determined to wean himself off of morphine that day. He sullenly lamented that he was designing weapons for a government that had stolen his youth and his health and alienated his wife and friends from him, but he kept his resentment silent for years, devoting himself to his work.

His second regret was coming to Rapture. His father, Franklin Stone, had been captivated by the promise of unending industry and of limitless potential. The elder Stone had grown weary of making weapons for Washington to use as toys in their squabble with the Reds, and had encouraged his sons to join him in the brave new world of free enterprise. Richard had been suspicious of the invitation from day one. Why would a perfect city need weapon manufactures? But he had grown so disgusted with his life that he jumped at the opportunity to begin a new one. So in late 1949, at the age of twenty-three and having had been handicapped for nearly five years, he made the choice to immigrate to Rapture with his wife, his parents, and one of his brothers, Rolland, who was still a bachelor.

Together they forged Stone and Sons into a successful business and churned out thousands of defensive turrets. As more and more people immigrated the demand for turrets skyrocketed. The state of having four solid walls constantly closing in on you made everyone nervous and paranoid, afraid that their neighbour would slice their throats in the middle of the night simply to grab whatever expensive little treats that had been exported from the surface at high prices. Their products where lauded as great technical achievements since they able to recognize friend from foe. That accolade belonged to Rolland, who had used the sonic fingerprints emitted by known "friendly" people to programmed into the sensors. But Richard had done his work as well, designing the turrets with masterful precision so that they would spring to life at a moments notice and be accurate with it's targeting.

By 1951 Stone and Sons had expanded into their own building and began to experiment with both hovering technologies and the sonic fingerprinting that Rolland had pioneered. The mechanics and practically of a flying defensive security turret meant that Richard saw even less of Dorothy, and what he did see of her he no longer even recognized. She had received plastic surgery to "fix" her nose, although Richard had seen nothing wrong with it to begin with. But he recognized the fad that the bored women were indulging in and sought to guide her in another direction, perhaps down a path where they could reconcile.

"There's much more you could do," Richard said one evening while they sat near the fire. It was almost always cold in Rapture, and the chill only served to aggravate his wounds. "You could learn something, or-"

"Most women have children to occupy their time," Dorothy had replied curtly. Her bitterness over their shared misfortune was a continual source of tension.

Richard bit his tongue. He wanted to harshly repute her with his own bitterness and anger, but he wanted to avoid confrontation with Dorothy. Richard loved her still and wanted to reach across the chasm of sorrow and resentment that had separated them for so long. He had heard exciting things recently, rumours from the Medical Pavilion, stories of miracles performed with what was nothing sort of magic. "Maybe the future has better things in store for us," he cryptically replied, not wanting to jinx his hope by speaking it aloud.

Dorothy didn't answer. Instead she sniffed and lit a cigarette. "Marlene?" she called after a few moments.

Richard wondered why anyone would come to Rapture to work as a domestic. A ticket to Rapture was one-way, and why anyone could come to watery tomb for a job they could have on the surface was baffling to him. He supposed that, like him, Marlene and her fellow low level workers had been trying to escape something in their lives. But just as he had been conditioned to do on the surface, Richard's thoughts did not dwell too long on the less fortunate.

Marlene appeared from the dimly lit recesses of the apartment. She had worked for Dorothy since they had moved in. Like all people in Rapture her skin was pallid and lacklustre. The absence of the sun had more than just cosmetic effects, however, and Richard himself was beginning to feel smothered emotionally by the fathoms that sequestered the city.

"Ma'am?" she asked, her voice flat with an unmentionable weariness.

"Prepare me a bath," Dorothy ordered without even glancing at Marlene. "Not too hot this time, I felt like a boiled lobster last night."

"Yes," Marlene replied slowly, then lumbered off towards the bathroom.

Dorothy sat in silence for a while, smoking several cigarettes in succession while Richard stared listlessly into the fire.

"I would like it if you reconsidered my advice," Richard said, trying hard to keep the frustration he harboured towards his wife's attitude under control. "You need to find something to do in the day time other than listen to the radio and chat with your friends."

"Don't you tell me what to do with my life," she snapped at him. "Isn't it enough that you dragged me down here? Do you want to manage everything I do?"

"I did not drag you down here," Richard firmly said, his frustration getting the better of him. "I gave you an option, an out. I thought you wanted the chance to leave me, and I gave you the dignified choice of coming with me or staying behind as opposed to a divorce. And you chose me, my _dear_, although if you chose me or my wealth is really the question, isn't it?"

Dorothy shot daggers at him. "How dare you insinuate that?" she sharply shot at him. "I never-"

Richard stood up, wincing at the sudden rush of pain in his hip and leg. "This conversation is over, Dorothy. I try, Lord knows I try to get through to you, yet you treat me like some kind of stupid and sick old man. You either begin to treat me like your husband or you can learn what life in the Sinclair Deluxe is like."

"You wouldn't really, would you?" she gasped at him, and Richard regretted his harsh outburst when he saw the hurt in her eyes at his threat.

He sighed and grabbed his cane, which was made of ebony and had a copper handle embellished with engravings. Richard was planning on stealing the bath that Marlene was preparing his wife; heat was the only thing other than opium which could ease his pain. Manoeuvring into the bathtub was a feat in and of itself though. "I do not want to spend the rest of my life with someone who will not engage with me in anyway," he said and shifted his weight to his cane.

"Neither do I," Dorothy rebuffed.

"It's nice to agree about something for once," Richard said dryly and made his way out of the room, pitching about on an uneven but effective gait. "If you want to remain with me, Dorothy, you will have to start sleeping in the same bed with me, at the very least." In the last year she had taken to her own bed, claiming that he snored but he knew it was because of her repulsion of his injuries, which were healed but still sickening to Dorothy. His bones, covered only by thin scar tissue, jutted out at odd angle and she could not even bring herself to touch him at all anymore.

"But, darling, you snore-" she protested.

He groaned in annoyance. "No, I do not. I set up a tape recorder all night once, and upon review, no, I do not snore. You're disgusted with me, you shallow harpy, but not disgusted enough to do us both a kindness and leave," he continued, his tirade against her picking up steam as the familiar pain set in his bones. "I am the one who has to live with this, not you, and you can go any time you like."

Dorothy followed him, much to Richard's surprise. "Oh, darling, I do want to be with you. I just want you to be the man you were, not the depressed workaholic you've become."

Richard continued his shambling lope to the bath. "You want an intact man, hmm? Well go and pick yourself a waiter at Kashmir or one of Cohen's little pets," he shot back, unhappy that she had made a valid point. He had been depressed before they had come to Rapture, and the lack of sunshine and fresh air and contact with the outside world had only made it worse. Back in New York he has enjoyed simple things that were now intangible fancies-bird song, the soft glow of a winter's sunset, and even driving rain and blizzards. The view from the window here was always the same, always the same muted blue, eerily luminous with steady lights from the city. He could almost feel his will to live ebbing away each day, suffocating under Ryan's callous propaganda and the eternal abyss of the sea.

"Richard, I don't want that, I want you back," she pleaded, and he was shocked to see tears in her eyes.

But it was too little, too late. If she truly wanted their marriage to be rescued from the brink she'd have to put in more effort herself. "I will never be the same person I was before the war," he said, straightforward as usual. "You have to deal with that. When and if you do, I will be more than willing to-" he stopped abruptly as he reached the bathroom, his thoughts dying on his tongue.

"What?" Dorothy asked, then followed his gaze. She gasped in horror. "Oh! Oh! Fetch a doctor!" and then ran off, presumably to find help.

Richard leaned forward the best he could and grasped Marlene by the top of her dress. He tugged and with considerable effort on his part he was able to pull her out of the now over flowing bathtub, where she had laid herself headfirst into the water. He rolled her onto her back and pushed on her stomach and chest. A burble of water erupted from her lips, but her face was not reanimated and he gave up, tired by the effort, and sat down on the side of the tub. Richard was oblivious to the warm water trickling down the tile and now saturating his pants.

_Someone should really do something about this, _he thought sadly while gazing at the fresh corpse of Marlene. Suicide rates had skyrocketed in Rapture, particularly among those who had little hope of social mobility. Richard clenched his fists in an attempt to still the pain that arisen in him with his sudden activity. He shut his eyes and breathed deeply, his resolve against using morphine that night fading.

Lupe pressed the lumpy pillow against her ears, desperately trying to get the rest that she sorely needed. The dormitory held forty-eight young women, all between the ages of eighteen and thirty, in a space that a quarter of that number would have felt cramped. Each night at least one young woman would be crying, another two or three would be fighting with each other, and at the very least another four would be up and chatting and gossiping.

As much as she sympathized with the evitable weeping woman and understood the urge to pick fights with the others, she didn't understand why they couldn't wait until daytime to do so. Of course, daytime was a relative term. Sunlight never reached their prison.

She tried to tune out the other women and sleep, but once she managed to tune out their sobs and squabbles and laughter Lupe turned within herself and could only hear her own anger. She had been tricked and she hated her deceiver only slightly more than she hated herself for falling for their lies.

Lupe had been born in Argentina to prosperous parents, but political turmoil had led her family to emigrate to America just before the war. They opened up a restaurant in Los Angeles and had made enough money to support Lupe's dream of being an artist. She had attended art school and upon graduation had moved to New York, eagerly trying to make her mark on the world with charcoal still life's and landscapes.

Her style was not exciting to the art world, which craved more abstract and nebulous representations of reality. After two years of rejection she was ready to give up, move back home, and refit her dream to match the cruelly honest reality that the gallery owners and critics had presented to her. But one late afternoon she had been at her tiny apartment with her roommate, heartlessly sketching out the skyline, when there had been a knock at the door.

The man had seen her portfolio, he said, and he was impressed with her skill. He was dressed in a well tailored grey suit and his hat sat elegantly on his head. Lupe was taken with him, but resisted her innate desire to flirt with the stranger. She desperately wanted to be a professional artist, and she knew that she must behave as a professional. The man, Mr. Van De Graf, had a proposal for her, and that if she wanted to hear it she should meet him for lunch tomorrow.

Lupe wore her best silk stockings, used her very limited supply of cash to buy some make-up, and slipped into the best clothing that her and her roommate had combined. She hadn't had a meal at an upscale restaurant since she left Los Angeles, and the sudden heady feeling of sophistication gave her a confidence that filled her with hope.

Mr. Van De Graf's proposition had been interesting. Well, interesting wasn't really the word. Beyond belief was maybe a better way to say it. The world was dying, he said, and creative types like herself would be the first victims. Talent like hers would be trampled underfoot a new world order that sought only to control. There was no difference, Mr. Van De Graf claimed, between the Soviets and the Americans. At their core they shared the same goal; total annihilation of the individual and enslavement of the masses. That was why she had not found any takers for her art; Lupe's work showed signs of rare skill, of an unlimited natural genius, and he could provide her with the environment in which she would flourish.

"You will bloom like a rose," he said and gestured to her. "You have it all. You are young, beautiful, charming, but above all, you've got a special gift that will only be tarnished by the parasites that wish to suck out your lifeblood for their own selfish existence."

Lupe liked to think that living on her own in New York had given her some degree of education in the way of the world, but looking back she had as naïve as a farmer's daughter. Mr. Van De Graf had breathed new life into her heart's desire. In her mind's eye she could see herself, her long straight brown hair, sparkling green eyes, and toffee-coloured skin in a fashionable dress, surrounded by adoring fans.

And now, as she lay on her stomach on the mattress, she cursed herself for being such a fool. She had wagered everything on the bright future that Mr. Van De Graf had promised her. She disappeared, leaving her family behind her, who had probably assumed that she had died in New York in some anonymous and tragic way. She held back her own tears over that, refusing to comprise her dignity in front of the other women, but Lupe perpetually felt the sting of regret and of sorrow.

Her first week in Rapture had thrilled her. She had arrived in the closing days of 1949 and spent New Years Eve spinning around the dance floor of the Mermaid Lounge, happily swapping dance partners with each song. All the young men claimed that once they had made the proper contacts and got a little bit of capital stored up they would be a captain of industry. They all had bright ideas, they insisted, and all their ideas needed was the money that their jobs at Atlantic Express or Jet Postal would earn them.

Lupe had shared her descent in the bathysphere with a fellow female artist, a wispy looking Pole named Helena. They had become fast friends and in the their first few joyous days in their new "paradise'' they had paid visits to galleries and expositions together, playing off of each other in order to gain the owner's attention. Lupe pretended to be a haughty prima donna while Helena was an angst-filled artiste who had lost her entire family in the war. In reality Helena had grown up in an orphanage and had spent the war in relative safety in the remote countryside, conscripted into labour on a dairy farm.

Their act was fun but not productive. They were informed that there would be a fee for display of their art, and upon commiseration with the other women in the dormitory they discovered that all the women had been told this. The dormitory was own by Mr Van De Graf, who's charges for room and board where quickly depleting Lupe's and the other's resources. The gallery fees were too much for the women, so Mr. Van De Graf was more than happy to offer employment placement services for the women. Twenty-five percent of their pay check, plus he could take another twenty-five percent for their room and board as they were obligated to live at his dormitory for the length of their contracted employment.

Lupe examined the contract for kitchen help that had been offered to the voluptuous young French woman that slept on the bunk below hers. She did the math and realized with a sudden burst of panic that if she would accept a similar contract it would take her three years to earn enough money for the gallery fee alone, and that was if she spent nothing other than the required kickbacks to Mr Van De Graf. And everything was so expensive in Rapture. Clothing cost three to five times as much as it did on the surface and even much simple things like fresh water tore a consider chunk out of her budget.

But she had no other options. Finding employment on her own was an even worse option. Most businesses used agencies to find employees, so anyone looking for work had to severely undercut the price of the agency to the point where they ended up earning half of what an agented employee would earn. And out of that half pay, rent still had to be paid, and even rat holes came at a premium in a air bubble at the bottom of the ocean. She worked a cigar store for a while, which was not so terrible, provided she could brush off the sexual advances of the clientele with good grace and aplomb.

Most nights the women were too tired to do anything except wax about what their big break was going to be like and show each other their portfolios. Creating art required more energy than anyone who worked seemed to have, and those who were between contracts did not have the money for supplies. Lupe browsed through her compatriot's portfolios and made a heartbreaking discovery; none of them were that good. With this awful fact in mind she flipped frantically through her own portfolio, trying to reassure herself that this tepid charcoal portrait was truly special or that that uninspired landscape showed true talent.

One night after a twelve hour shift at work her and Helena where exchanging foot rubs; standing (sitting was strictly forbidden) in high heels from eight am to eight pm made Lupe wish that the whole damn place would just catch on fire, improbable as that was. Helena had a job in the Medical Pavilion as a candy striper.

"I miss the cows," Helena said and groaned with pleasure and Lupe mashed her sore feet between her fingers. They sat on Lupe's bed as she was lucky enough to have a top bunk. "At least the cows did not treat me like garbage." Day in and day out Helena was forced to paint on a smile for the endless streams of rich ladies who came in to get minor flaws cut up and sewn back together.

Lupe wasn't really listening. She was too distracted by her recent epiphany that just because she liked drawing that didn't make her artist. Rapture was full of artists who had been celebrated on the surface and who already had a following. Lupe didn't like her odds so much anymore. "What did Mr. Van De Graf tell you when we asked you to come here?"

Helena frowned. "A bunch of lies. He told me that since Poland was under the heel of the Reds now I would be persecuted for my little doodles of birds and lizards. Just a lot of nonsense. I don't see what problem anyone would have with drawings of birds, do you? I did nothing political or religious or philosophical, just sketches of the little animals I found in the woods near the farm. I wouldn't have a problem making little communist birds, if that's what they paid me to do."

"He told me the same thing," Lupe shared, and switched to Helena's other foot.

Helena sighed. Her black hair was cut stylishly short, unlike Lupe's. One of the women had some experience with scissors and had done haircuts for a few dollars, until last week when she was arrested for running a business without a permit. For all his hyperbole about freedom, Ryan sure seemed to like to keep tight control over his populace. _He fancies himself a king or a god_, Lupe thought. _He couldn't be one on the surface so he made himself a little world where he could be. _

"We got tricked," Lupe said, voicing her deduction aloud for the first time. "Mr Van De Graf knew no one would come down here to scrub toilets and wait tables and change bandages on snobby bitches, so he filled our heads with promises and used our unrealistic hopes to lure us down here. Then he trapped us in this dorm and pimps us out so he doesn't have to do any real work."

"Yes," Helena concurred. "There was a reason we got rejected back home, wasn't there? But here it's worse. We can't just go 'oh well' and try something else, we have to do what our 'patron' tells us because we haven't got anywhere else to go."

Lupe glanced around the dormitory. It was constantly cluttered, with suitcases and shoeboxes and clothes lying helter-skelter. It stunk of sweat and cheap perfume, since the women where allowed a shower only once a week. "There has to be something we can do to get out," Lupe said and tried to believe her own words.

Helena seemed lost in thought for a moment. "There are always options," she slowly replied.

One week later Helena disappeared from the dormitory. Lupe was beyond herself with worry, frightened that something had happened to her newfound best friend. Mr. Van De Graf quickly filled her spot at the Medical Pavilion, but raged openly against Helena's defection. "You've all signed contracts!" he hollered at the women at five in the morning, rousing them from sorely needed sleep. "In Rapture we respect business, and without proper respect shown towards Rapture, the city will turn on you!"

Much to her relief though, Helena stopped by the cigar store a few days after she left the dormitory. Lupe had hugged her, risking a reprimand from her boss for slacking off on work for a few minutes, and let her know how worried she had been. Helena had smiled and told her to meet her at the Fort Frolic metro station tomorrow after work. Helena had a plan to escape, she told Lupe, and wanted to escape together.

And now Lupe laid in bed, hoping that Helena could offer her something tomorrow

that would mitigate her mistake in coming to Rapture.


	2. Chapter 2Hope

Two

Hope

Richard had already moved offices twice. His first office had been open to the ocean with windows on three sides, which was nice in theory, but was far too distracting. He'd be gloomily drafting a feed clip for a turret and then movement from outside would catch his eye and he'd be hopelessly distracted. Not so much distracted by a school of terribly average fish or a colossal whale, more distracted by the unnerving fact that he could see these things from outside of his office. _This isn't natural,_ he would ponder, growing increasingly nervous the more he thought about it. He'd think about things like differential pressure and how much water weighed and although the city itself was, for the most part, soundly built, he couldn't shake the feeling that he was standing on the edge of disaster.

Inevitable disaster or not though, he had a job to do. He had his office moved to a small room with no windows, but that was even worse. The constant groaning and wheezing of the pipes and the vents and the bulkheads were bad enough to distract him from the icy chill that had set into his bad leg. _Madness_, he thought in a panic one day about a week after moving into his new office. He scrambled out of the room as quickly as he could and went to lunch.

His brother Rolland joined him in the bistro, perhaps hearing office gossip that Richard had stormed out of the office without a word to anyone else. Richard listlessly pushed the fish around on his plate. On the surface he enjoyed fish but here he had grown tired of it.

Rolland had been prattling on for most of lunch about his latest conquest, Joanne. "She's right ginchy too, redhead you know, creamy skin."

Richard sighed and put his fork down. "I haven't slept with Dorothy since I shipped out," he announced, hoping that his plight would cause Rolland to change the subject. "I can't really get on top because of my leg, and anything else…" Richard frowned. "She just refuses to."

Rolland chortled. "Well no wonder you've been so blue!" he exclaimed mirthfully. "You haven't had a dame gargle your goods in years!" At his off-colour comment a pair of lunching ladies turned their heads and shushed him.

Richard rolled his eyes. Rolland's personality was such a stark contrast his own. But yes, it was true, and he suspected that said lack of goods-gargling was party responsible for his depression. He would never put it so bluntly though. If he needed to characterize it, Richard had been deprived of required affection. "Damn near seven years," he murmured.

"That Dorothy, she's a snotty bitch," Rolland began, knowing that Richard would not contradict him. Rolland was older and Richard tended to defer to him. "She thinks she's the best broad in this whole rotten bathtub, and she's always been like that. Fanciest little princess, she was, had to catch herself a gorgeous war hero. Didn't work out for it, did it? Sits around on her skinny little princess bottom all day, thinking about dresses and shoes. But we'll show her, eh? I got a plan to get you back into shape!"

"Rollie, look, I don't know-" Richard tried to protest. Ever since his personal defeat in the war all of the fight had been taken out of him. Maybe if he kept his head down, stayed out of trouble, didn't rock the boat, he could keep his good leg. Richard's reasoning wasn't logical, of course, but he clung to the hope that if he behaved he would be spared further pain and humiliation. And whatever Rolland was about to propose sounded like the beginning step of the confrontation with Dorothy he so direly craved yet was so hesitant to instigate.

Rolland ignored Richard's protest, however, and grinned at him. "Tonight, Richie, tonight at The Seahorse, you'll get back what those Nazis and that bitch took from you!"

Richard groaned inwardly. This wasn't the first time Rolland had tried to drag him along to a gentleman's club. "I don't find desperation to be an aphrodisiac."

"No, it's not like back home," Rolland argued. "These broads, they come down here to do it. They love it! It's their careers! They're artistic types, you know, bohemians, and if you play your cards right you don't even have to pay them. A lot of them are from Europe. Anything goes over there, they'll do stuff Dorothy could never even think of, much less do."

"I haven't got too many cards to play-"

"Ugh, Richie, quit with your sad cripple act. Yeah, you got a bashed up leg, but you know how you got it?"

"Oh yes, I do, I was there," Richard indignantly added, his dormant personality stirring a tiny amount. "I seem to remember getting _shot by a bunch of_ _Nazi shitheads_!" He shouted the last part of the sentence, and everyone in the classy little bistro turned their heads and stared for a moment.

"Exactly!" Rolland grinned at Richard. "You're a genuine war hero! You sacrificed your health for freedom. Broads love that kind of stuff, particularly European broads." Rolland leaned forward across the table. "Look, Richie, you got a trump card, you just got to play it."

Richard laughed bitterly. "Look where we are. These types, they don't care about self-sacrifice and doing things for others, especially for people in foreign lands they'll never meet. I'd be better off saying it did this to my own dumb self while working on a turret, because at least then I'd be rattling my own great chain for it, eh?"

"Tell 'em whatever you want, Richie," Rolland conceded. "But you got to tell 'em something otherwise you're going to wake up and old man one day and realize that you only got to knock boots like what, three or four times in your life?"

Richard scowled. "It was more than that. A lot more."

"Well I certainly hope it was enough to last you for the rest of your life," Rolland smugly replied.

Richard was not exactly enthused about his brother's idea, but it would be a welcome change from going home and having Dorothy ignore him all night. Despite her claim that she wanted things to get better she had made zero effort and the only thing that seemed to be on her mind was how terribly inconvenient it was that her that their live-in maid had died. "Fine," he agreed. "I'll go."

_She looks so pretty,_ Lupe thought with a twinge of jealousy as Helena rushed up to greet her as soon as her bathysphere surfaced. Helena's dark green dress was tight and silky and her make-up was boldly fashionable. Lupe walked up the platform, feeling a bit like an old hen in a gray cardigan and knee-length dark blue plaid skirt.

"Lupe! Oh, I'm so happy to see you," Helena gushed as she hugged her.

"Me too! You look so good!" Lupe said back. It felt good to have someone, anyone, care about her in this soulless city.

Helena smiled widely and hugged her again. "Don't worry, I have a plan," she whispered into Lupe's ear so that no one else on the platform would hear. "We're getting out of here."

Helena led Lupe through a forest of glowing neon, shining marble, and twinkling gold trim. "How about a drink?" Helena suggested.

"Helena, I can't really," Lupe said, shocked that Helena would even ask. They both kept their purses tightly shut, lest they succumb to the hopelessness of their situation. As long as they saved towards their gallery fees, they reasoned, they were still artists.

"Tsk, you can't think like that anymore," Helena lightly scolded her. "That dream is over, right?"

Lupe sighed heavily. "Yeah." It pained her to admit, pained her on so many levels, but for her own sake she had to accept the fact that she had failed.

"Good girl. Besides, my treat. I'm making lots of money already," Helena informed her with a secret smile.

"What are you doing? You're making money already?" Lupe questioned, eager to learn of her plan. She felt as though she couldn't face another night in the stinking and loud dormitory. That morning she had taken an icy cold shower and the chill still lingered on her flesh; she hadn't felt warm all day, hence the cardigan.

"Mmm-hmm," Helena informed as they climbed up a short flight of stairs, brushing past a crowd lining up for a movie.

"Have you got your own place?" Lupe pressed with excitement. She could almost give up her hope of returning to the surface if she could have some measure of solitude in Rapture.

"No, but I've only got one roommate, and she's gone most of the time." Helena's shiny black heels clicked merrily on the beautiful floor.

"So soon? How did you do this?"

"One of the ladies who came in for a breast enlargement wasn't the usual type, you know. A working gal, like us," Helena began to explain, but Lupe immediately saw holes in her story.

"Wait, what? How can someone like us afford to have her breasts done?" Lupe asked, suspicious of exactly what Helena meant by working gal.

Helena suddenly took hold of Lupe's hand and squeezed. "I don't want to die down here," she breathed and glanced around her to make sure no one else had heard. "I don't want to die in the darkness."

"Neither do I," Lupe muttered, distracted by the sudden realization of what a dear price she may have to pay to get back. She had dug, or rather sunk, herself into a very deep hole.

"Alright, like I said, she's one of us. Joanna's her name, I meet her a few months ago. She's real sweet, she wants out too. She came down here to be an actress, but, well, you know the story. She dances now at The Seahorse and-"

"Goodness!" Lupe exclaimed in horror. "Oh, saints preserve us!"

"Hush. Do you want to get home or not?" Helena interrupted Lupe's righteous indignation.

"But, but-" Lupe gasped, at a loss for anything other than shock at her options.

"Yes, I know, I know, but it's not like you haven't slept with a man, right?" Helena pointed out. "Anthony and Fernando and Luis and-"

"But that was different! I did it because I wanted to!" Lupe protested. She had told Helena many times about her experiences in New York when she was trying to get her big break.

"And you want to get out," Helena argued. "I already have, twice, and it really isn't so bad." Helena wasn't directly looking at Lupe, however, and instead was pulling her forward. "It's usually quick, and…" Helena trailed off. "Well, quick anyway."

Lupe slowly shook her head. "How will that even get us out of here?"

"Joanna, she's got it all figured out. They might be able to grow food and cotton and such down here, but there's just some things you can make, no matter how much you believe in the free market. Chemical elements for their science projects, the neon that lights up this hell, even rubber for bicycle tires, they've got to get that from the surface. There's a submarine to get these things. Once a month it goes up. Ryan Industries owns the whole operation, of course, they're the only ones allowed to have any contact with the surface. But capitalism, it's a marvellous thing, isn't it? You'd think Ryan would pay the workers who have contact with the surface a bit better, wouldn't you? Not a fortune, but enough to stop them from collecting bribes," Helena explained in a roundabout way. It was clear to Lupe that Helena was just as uncomfortable with the situation as Lupe was, but she was just as if not more determined to escape.

"I don't know," Lupe said carefully. "There has to be another way."

"Can you think of a way to earn twenty-thousand dollars before you're old and grey?" Helena interjected curtly. "I'm sorry Lupe, I really am, I know this isn't ideal, but I promised myself I'd leave Rapture and I am willing to do whatever it takes. If you don't want to sell your body, I understand. But I hope you won't judge me for it."

"Oh, Helena, of course I don't," Lupe rushed to amend. "I understand, I just don't know if I can. I wish I was brave like you." Lupe did wish that she was bolder and more proactive. Helena could summon up the wherewithal to brazenly fight for her freedom.

"Come with me to The Seahorse and just have a look at what happens," Helena suggested. "It's not as if you'll be walking the streets. I'll show you what I do. I just sit there and a man approaches me and we make some conversation. He'll bring up what he wants to do, we'll negotiate a price, and then, before you know it, it's done and over and you're one step closer to home and your family."

Lupe didn't know if she could face her family after such a disgrace, but if she didn't try she might not ever face them in any context again. And she would just see, just see if she was comfortable with the idea. She wasn't committing to anything.


	3. Chapter 3Hero

Chapter Three

Hero

The piercingly bright spotlights lit up the girl on the stage. She was dressed in an sheer white gown and her rosy nipples were barely visible underneath the gossamer fabric. She performed an acrobatic stunt on a swing suspended several feet off of the stage, leaning back and extending her legs. There was a round of applause and the dancer elegantly hung upside down from the swing.

Richard caught a peek of her pubic hair and sighed deeply. Her performance had the desired effect on him and he shifted uncomfortably in his seat, trying to adjust his erection so that it wasn't so obvious. He was sitting next to Rolland in a booth, but Rolland wasn't paying any attention to him. Joanna was sitting next to Rolland and they were engaged in whispers and coy looks. No woman had latched onto Richard yet though, so he continued to scope out the working gals.

In an attempt to push down his erection he bumped hand against his wound in such a manner that caused a rush of pain to whip through his body. He gasped and Rolland turned his attention to him. "You alright?" he asked.

Richard nodded and turned his attention back to the stage. The moment was ruined, however, and his penis drooped flaccidly. He swirled the ice in his glass around and could faintly hear the clicking of the ice against the glass. There was a sip of watery gin remaining, but Richard had lost his taste for it.

"…for sure, baby, for sure," Rolland muttered to Joanna and she laughed in a way that can only be bought.

Richard brought his attention to the pair of them. "So, what do you do when you aren't haunting nightclubs?" Richard addressed Joanna.

Her painted smile didn't once leave her face. "Sleeping. I'm a night owl."

Rolland laughed at this. "That you are! You keep me up all night!"

Richard rolled his eyes at his brother's weak double entendre. He wanted to question Joanne as to why she came to Rapture. Perhaps she really did come to be a prostitute; after all, there was no laws against it. But to commit to an entire lifetime of it? He figured it would be rude to ask, however, and instead asked Joanne how her week went.

The question seemed to catch her off-guard. "Fine, I guess," she mumbled and pulled a pack of cigarettes out from her handbag.

Rolland pulled a lighter from his breast pocket and lit her cigarette. "Richard was in the war, did I tell you that?"

"Was he now?" Joanna replied and took a drag from her cigarette. A lot of people where in the war so Richard understood why she wasn't bowled over with that factoid.

"Not just was he in it, he's a bona fide war hero," Rolland extrapolated. "He was awarded the Bronze Star." Rolland took the glass that Richard had finished with and sucked down the last few drops of gin and water. "You wouldn't happen to have any friends who be interesting in spending some time with a real-life hero, would you doll?

"Rollie, you don't need to bore her with that story," Richard said, but Rolland was determined to get his brother back into the arms of a woman, but Richard did not like to talk about the war.

"Come on now, Richie, you did nothing wrong." Rolland interrupted, but saw the approaching irritation on Richard's face and dropped the subject. He set his eyes on the act on stage. "What about her, do you know her?"

Joanna's pert grin was ghastly to Richard. It never left her face. So cold and artificial. Just as artificial and cold as a city at the bottom of the sea. Richard decided that should he find himself with a bona fide whore by the end of the evening he would pay her double if she would just be honest, even if that meant she just curled up and cried afterwards. At least that would be far more natural that the ceaseless smile that Joanna wore.

"Yes, but she's otherwise engaged this evening," Joanna answered. "Why don't you wait here for a moment I'll see if I can't scare anyone up?" Joanna excused herself and stood.

Both brothers watched her make her way through the crowded room and turn and go up a flight of stairs. "You'll be fit as a fiddle again before the night is out!" Rolland proclaimed happily and signalled to the waitress to bring them more drinks.

Richard scowled. The whole operation was making him nervous. His primal arousal was contrasting sharply with his discomfort at the microcosm of a sham of human interactions that the whole evening was. For all parties involved to keep up the charade of "knowing someone" and "meeting ladies" was uncomfortable. Lies and little plays all put on just for the benefit of getting sexual satisfaction. "I don't know, I think I've changed my mind," he said to Rolland.

"You're over thinking it," Rolland dismissed easily. "You're sitting there, turning over the ramifications of the moral and ethical insinuations of the exchange of cash and bodily fluids. It might make you a hell of an engineer, Richie, but it makes you half of a man."

"Oh, you can just go and fuck yourself Rollie-" Richard said and tried to stand up, but he moved too quickly and the sudden pain caused him to groan and sit back down again.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean that," Rolland replied in a softer tone. "What I meant was-"

"I don't care what you mean," Richard snapped, taking offense at Rolland's unintended insult. Richard had felt that he was indeed only a half a man since the war and any reminder of that was, to say the least, a sensitive subject. "I'm leaving, I'm going home, and I don't care if I have to sleep in a different bedroom from my bitch wife for the rest of my life!"

"I didn't mean it!" Rolland apologized sincerely. "Really, I didn't, it was a joke!"

Richard grabbed his cane and leaned on it as he stood up. "I am no longer in the mood for ladies, I mean, whores, and do so kindly inform them that this half-man war hero will not be needing their services tonight. My apologies to Joanna, as well, for having to go and get another one out of storage," he huffed.

More than anything Richard would have liked to go home and collapse into bed with a beautiful bed mate and have her coo and giggle over him as well, to warm his bad leg with her soft and gentle hand, and to delicate coax a climax from his neglected organ. But if the price was to sit with Rolland and tolerate his cheap shots all night, well, Richard had been lonely before and was able to deal with it. He walked out of The Seahorse as quickly as he could, soldiering on through the pains.

Lupe stared at the announcement board at the metro station, willing that the 'DELAYED' sign to her destination would soon flip back to a confirmed departure time. All too often in Rapture there were delays for transport. She liked to imagine something fantastic was causing the delay, like a team of mermaids had spirited off with a section of track in order to build a tower on their fantastic castle (which was not full of disappointment and bitterness), but she knew it was probably something much more mundane, like a switching station was incrusted in barnacles and some poor bastard had to go and scrape them off. Probably one of the wide-eyed young men she had met when she first moved to Rapture was out there right now, chiselling the shelled pests off of some machinery and cursing his decision to emigrate to Rapture.

_At least they don't charge you to look at the fish yet_, Lupe mused bleakly as she gazed out the window at a school of slow swimming silver scaled fish. She was sitting on a bench alone, her pretty face distorted in a pout. Her evening had been cut short by one of Helena's clients. Lupe had decided not to stick around much longer after Helena took off with her client to a discrete and tiny hotel that did not advertise. Helena had said that each room only had enough space for a bed barely big enough for two.

Lupe would rather spend the night at a seedy motel though, as opposed to returning to her dormitory. She didn't want to spend one more night in that filthy hovel. It was even worse now since Helena was gone. No privacy, no peace, just a relentless barrage of noise and aggravation. She was getting desperate, and part of her had hoped that she too would snag a client before she wimped out and returned to the metro. But that didn't happen, obviously, and now she faced the prospect of not just another night at the dormitory, but a lifetime of it.

Lupe choked back tears._ It_ _wasn't supposed to be this way,_ she thought sadly and her eyes followed the last few stragglers in the school as they swam out of view. She sensed someone sit down next to her and turned her head.

A handsome blonde man near in age to herself was leaning back on the bench, his eyes closed and his face screwed up in pain. He gripped a silver handled cane in one hand and he wore a pinstriped jacket over a pure white shirt. He blinked his eyes open and caught sight of her staring at him. "What?" he asked, breathlessly, and sat up straight.

"Are you alright?" Lupe asked. The stranger was a bit flushed and obviously bothered by something, judging by the look of irritation in his eyes.

"I'm just dandy," the man replied. He took a gold cigarette case out from his pocket and lit one.

Lupe's hungrily gazed at the cigarette. She smoked heavily on the surface but hadn't been able to justify the luxurious expense of an unnecessary vice in at least a year. "There are delays," she said distractedly. "Are you travelling on the red line?"

"No," he answered gruffly. "I'm going to Adranos Place."

Adranos Place was a ritzy complex made up of pricey condominiums, chic restaurants, and adorable little boutiques. Lupe had spent some time there before while pitching to a gallery. She had lusted after the shoes in a particular shop window, and even now she could still see the red pumps with white piping. _He could afford it_, she thought quickly. _And he's attractive, I would chose too anyway, under better circumstances._ She pulled her skirt up her leg a few inches in what she hoped what an innocuous manner.

The stranger watched her hike her skirt up. The hooks of her garter belt was just visible. She felt emboldened by his interested gaze. "All the lines are running a bit behind," she said in her best airy voice.

"Shit," he muttered and took a drag off of his cigarette.

Lupe could almost feel the smoke in her lungs. _So tasty… _She pressed her lips together. "I know somewhere we could go, to kill the time," she suggested. Even if he didn't pay her it would be nice to have some relative privacy. Hopefully he didn't snore.

"Do you really?" he said and smiled sardonically. "A little place that charges by the hour?"

She smiled back. "Maybe."

"I'm curious. Will you indulge me if I ask you something?" he asked.

Lupe scooter closer to him. _He's going to ask how much,_ she realized, but was suddenly struck by insecurity. _How much am I worth? One hundred? Two? I just don't know. _"You can ask for anything."

"When you come down here to prostitute yourself did you have a long term plan or where you just going to play it by ear?"

Lupe's face fell. Oh, how could she have misread the situation so badly? "No!" she exclaimed. "I didn't come here to do that!"

The stranger's smile disappeared. "Look, I didn't mean-" he tried to explain, but Lupe didn't hear him.

"I-I was supposed to be an artist!" she bawled and put her hands on her face, trying to hide her shameful tears. "I was good, my teachers said I had talent! I don't want to do this! I've never done anything like this before, but I can't keep living at that rotten place!"

"Shhh," the stranger offered and she felt his hand on her shoulder. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he whispered. "I've had a bad day, I'm sorry, but that's no excuse for my behaviour."

Lupe couldn't hear him over her own embarrassment and sorrow. "I don't want to do this! I don't want to be here any more! I want to go home!" she sobbed. "I just want things to be the way they used to be before I came here!"

"Quiet," the man ordered her gently in a whisper. "You shouldn't say things like that in public."

Lupe sniffed and still hid her face from him. "You're right," she bemoaned. "I didn't think this though, I'm just a no-good sinner now," she continued sadly. "I don't want to be a hooker, I really don't, but I don't know what else to do."

"Look, just, just calm down, alright," the man said. "I feel awful, I do, but you're not helping yourself by getting into a state in public like this. If you really feel so awful I'll escort you home, no funny business, I swear. I'm very sorry to have upset you."

She took her hands from her face and he held them gently between his. "I, I-" she started to say but the serious concern on his face was so touching and refreshing it broke her heart and her waning tears were renewed. "I wanted to be an artist!" she exclaimed.

"What do you work with? Water colours? Acrylics?" he asked, and Lupe was too upset to notice that he was delicately trying to defuse her woe.

"Charcoals mostly," she managed to say between heaves.

"What's your name?" he asked and squeezed her hand lightly.

"Lupe," she answered. "Lupe Cervantes."

"Like the writer?"

She nodded. "Yeah." She sniffed again. "What's your name?"

"Richard," he answered.

"What are you in for?" she asked with a tentative smile.

"I'm a technical drafter," he answered. "My father's got a firm, Stone and Sons, have you heard of it?"

Lupe shrugged. "No, sorry."

"Well, I suppose an artist hasn't got much need for a turret, have they?" He pulled his golden cigarette case out and offered her a cigarette. "Here, have a smoke."

Lupe eagerly accepted and he lit it with a matching golden lighter. She inhaled and moaned in simple pleasure. "Thanks," she murmured.

"I'm sorry for what I said," Richard apologized again.

"You were right though, my friend and I are trying to make some money so-" Lupe stopped talking before she revealed their illegal escape plan. "So we could make better lives for ourselves."

"Where do you live that's so awful?" Richard asked.

Lupe explained her situation and Richard was quiet for a moment. "That sounds worse than sleeping in the mud in Germany," he said after she had described the dorm. "At least when we knew it was done we'd get to go home."

"Is that where you got that?" Lupe gestured to his cane.

Richard nodded. "Feel free to turn me down, since you're an educated professional, but if you want to move out of the dorm so badly I may be able to help you if you want to get out there so badly."

Lupe detected no sarcasm in his voice. Even if he was suggesting that he bring her back and tie her up in her in closet and do unspeakable things to her, she couldn't imagine it being worse than the dorm. And, as she had previously noted, he was rather attractive. Perhaps she would even grown to like it. "I'll do anything," she told him and put her hand on his chest.

"Not, not that. We recently lost our maid. It's not the most amazing job in the world, I know, but you'll have your own bedroom and bathroom, and-"

"I'll do it," she agreed. "Now. I will go home with you now," she promised.

"How about tomorrow? Don't you want to get your things and tell your employer you're leaving?"

"No, it's a cut and run with him. And, I don't think I will be needing my portfolio anymore anyway," Lupe mournfully said. _Just le me come home with you tonight,_ she thought longingly while gazing at her new-found hero, _I don't even need my own bedroom…_

"You can survive one more night there. You're brave enough to come down here by yourself-"

"More like stupid enough," Lupe interjected without thinking.

Richard grinned. "You and me both. But I really feel like I should give my wife a few hours warning at the least when I bring a beautiful woman home, even if it is to clean up after her."

_Oh, of course he was married. He must be in love too, no wonder he turned me down._ Lupe tried to hide her disappointment. "Do I have to cook? I am not good at cooking," she questioned quickly, as to cover her sudden awkwardness.

"We eat out most of the time. If anything it's just some tea and a sandwich or something. I know it isn't the most dignified position in the world, but it won't be forever. You can save up some money and maybe work out a new plan for yourself once you get some peace and quiet," Richard proposed.

"Yes, I accept," she quickly answered. She was so happy to be out of the dormitory that her heart felt lighter than it had in months. So pleased she was that she felt like she could face one last night in dormitory. Lupe wiped her tears away on the back of her sleeve. "Thank you."

Richard wrote the address down on a scrap of newspaper and handed it to her. "I'll probably be at work tomorrow when you come," he said. "But I'll tell my wife all about it, Dorothy, that's her name, and you'll be all set up, alright? And if she gives you any grief, well, I'm writing my extension at work down, you call me up and we'll settle it, okay?"

Lupe took the paper and tucked it into her purse. "Do you think your wife will agree?"

"I'm the one paying for everything, I should get to decide. Besides, it's not like I'm paying you for sex," he added with a smile.

Lupe smiled back, but didn't feel as cheerful as she had before. Being a maid was hardly a step up from that, and she personally would rather be sleeping between his sheets than washing them. It certainly would earn her more money.

They made polite chit chat until the trains were running again, each of them pleasantly surprised that they had both lived in New York. Lupe was surprised that Richard was reluctant to talk about how he had come to be wounded in the war; it was her experience that other veterans were more than happy to tell their tales of combat. But Richard only brushed her suggestions off.

As she left the station she couldn't help but look forward to seeing him when he got home from work the next day. Lupe hoped his wife would be amiable. If she wasn't Lupe might be falling from the frying pan into the fire.


	4. Chapter 4 Lust

Chapter Four

Lust

Dorothy had responded the way Richard supposed that she would. He informed her the following morning that he had already filled the position and that she shouldn't worry herself about it anymore. Dorothy had asked, suspicious of Richard's motives, as to why he bothered to fill the position himself. "You've never taken any interest in the household duties before," were her exact words.

Richard drank his morning coffee and tried to ignore eye contact. It was real coffee, not a substitute, and as such came from above at great cost. There just simply wasn't enough space in the greenhouses and plantations of Arcadia to grow enough beans to meet the demand, and a result most people drank ground-up chicory roots with added caffeine. His most beloved wife, however, could not get it through her skull that it since it was a grey market good she should be exacting in measuring it out. It was always too strong, and as a result Richard often had a caffeine related headache by lunchtime on the days his wife made coffee.

"I told you, I wanted to help her, she's down on her luck," Richard answered.

"Who cares if she's down on her luck? That's her problem," Dorothy shot back and sneered.

"Why are we arguing about this? Our house is a dump. In the week since Marlene killed herself it's gone to hell here," he illustrated his point by gesturing around the dining room, which was cluttered with empty cups and newspapers and an overflowing ashtray.

"Marlene was fat and plain. You've gone and hired some harlot from a brothel to parade about for your pleasure!" Dorothy accused him

"How on Earth did you get that impression?" Richard stonily said. He hadn't told Dorothy any of the particulars about his and Lupe's conversation, only that they had chatted at the Fort Frolic metro station. Dorothy was a touch too correct though, with her wild accusations, for Richard's comfort. Had he continued his line of questioning with Lupe last night his follow up question would have been "If I want the whole night, how much is that going to run me?"

But Dorothy, of course, knew nothing of this, and was just being her usual unpleasant self. "You couldn't be content to go and gallivant around with your brother, huh? You had to bring a piece of filth into my home," she spat angrily.

Richard brought his cup down to the saucer and it clinked. "For one, I give you my word that I have not used the services of prostitute. For two, if you would consider alternative methods of intercourse this would not even be an issue. Thirdly, if you could deign yourself to come down from Mount Olympus and tidy up yourself, we wouldn't need a maid. And finally, it's my money that pays for the maid, so should I want to hire, say, a dozen young nubile women to work in the nude and perform acts of sodomy with me, I will do so," he dryly intoned. His headache was coming on much sooner than usual today, he realized dully. There was a way to deal with that, but he usually waited until he got to work to do it.

"Why must you constantly undermine our sacred bond, Richard?" Dorothy asked with an air of haughtiness. "You must constantly bring up your sinful desires-"

Richard had had enough at that comment. "Dorothy! I haven't had sex with you or anyone else in seven fucking years! Seven years! Do you know what that's like?"

"Yes, I do," she answered curtly. "I am in the exact same position as you are. But I chose to accept things. Besides, you don't need intercourse to live. You should channel your energy into more constructive things, if you feel like your carnal desires are starting to control you."

Richard thought that he would be used to his wife's condescension by now, but she always managed to surprise him with the endless supply of her contempt for male sexuality. "I work so much I dream in blueprints," he said caustically. "If that isn't channelling it enough then I don't know what you want from me."

"What I want is for you to be a decent gentleman and never bother me again with your suggestions that I, as a decent and well bred woman, cannot repeat."

"I'll breed you well," he muttered under his breath.

"Disgusting," Dorothy said shortly, and reached for the coffee pot.

Richard fumbled with the small black leather case in which he stored prepared morphine injections. It was his morning ritual for the past few years; cup of coffee, minor or major fight with his wife, morphine injection, then off to work. He stuck the needle into his inner forearm and moaned lightly as he pushed the plunger down. Richard hated being a junkie, but he hated being blinded by pain much more.

As the drug worked it's way through his blood, Richard leaned back in his chair and stared at Dorothy. For the first time he seriously began to wonder how divorce in Rapture would work. It was another facet of his regret in moving here. On the surface he was familiar enough with the rules, but here he was uncertain. They had registered as a married couple when they emigrated, however he had not yet heard of anyone getting a legal divorce. One of his employees and his wife had split, but he just simply moved out and nothing had been formalized. As much as Richard would like to kick Dorothy's ice-cold bonebag to the curb, he wasn't quite ready to severe the ties just yet.

Richard's commute to the office was typical. His office was temporarily located now near the production floor in a rather small former conference room. But it was private and had a locking door and wasn't open to sea nor was it buried under pipes and vents and that was all that really mattered. Someone had already put up a little metallic sign with "Richard Stone-Head of Design" stencilled in it in black ink. Richard took off his hat and coat, hung them on the stand, and locked the door behind him. He settled into his chair and hung his cane off of the side of the desk. He opened a desk drawer, pulled out a sheet of onionskin paper, and crumbled it up in his hands until it was as soft as tissue paper. Then, with a quick glance to the door to make sure it was securely shut, unbuttoned his pants and began his methodical and steady masturbation routine.

There was a dozen or so scenarios Richard would cycle though; today he chose an old chestnut. Two lovely ladies, both vaguely resembling the dancer at The Seahorse last night, were kissing each other and suckling at each other's breasts, then advancing on him. And, since it was fantasy and he was able-bodied, he then proceeded to penetrate one of them without any difficulty or special considerations while lying on his back. The other girl was hovering over his face, not so much that he was smothered by her moist and warm lips, but that his nose and mouth could nuzzle against her just enough that he could taste it.

He could almost taste it. And the first lady, currently bouncing on his admittedly average cock, was squealing in delight. "Oh Richard," she moaned in ecstasy while he roughly fondled her breasts, "that feels so good! Fuck me harder!"

_Gladly,_ he thought, and stroked the shaft faster. His angle of attack was a bit awkward, but it was the best position to avoid mood-ruining contact with his wounds. He had knicked a jar of lotion from Dorothy for the purposes of lubrication and he paused briefly to unscrew the lid and apply a dollop. Richard was rather fond of this particular brand. It made his hands smell like almonds afterwards.

The lady he was eating out was stating to purr as well. He was quite pleased with himself. Her juices ran into his mouth, and in the fantasy the fluid tasted much better than in real life. Like peaches. He hadn't a peach in so long…

That train of thought distracted him so much that he began to lose sight of the lovely women. They faded into the recesses of his mind and began to think about all the things he had enjoyed on the surface that were now either black market goods or flat-out unavailable at any price. His erection deflated and he was soon holding his flaccid penis and looking at his desktop with a detached stare. Even he was starting to feel the strangle of the very limited variety of foods and could only imagine how the populace who made a fraction of what he did felt about it. People like Lupe…

At the thought of her his organ plumped back up, and since she was a real person and not some sort of vague compilation of anonymous women he was able to maintain focus easily. Without much difficulty Richard was able to suppose what she looked like under her modest cardigan and wool skirt. He imagined thrusting into her on his desk, her legs tightly wrapped around him, screaming his name so loudly that everyone in the building could hear. Richard did not dwell on that thought for long, however, and he soon emitted into the prepared onionskin paper.

A rare and genuine smile traced it's way across his lips as he balled up the used paper and casually tossed it into a wastebasket. Unlike most of the time, this masturbation session hadn't been an exercise of sheer utility. He had actually enjoyed himself. After a moment of contemplative thought over his new situation he fastened his pants back up and began to review some plans that were sitting in his inbox.

Would you kindly imagine a pagebreak here?

Lupe closed her suitcase and heard the Bakelite snap as the clips fell into place. She had been rather depressed that all of her worldly belongings had fit into the medium sized yellow suitcase. This morning Lupe had forgone her usual breakfast of corn mash and hot water scantly flavoured with "coffee" and had instead stealthily packed her bag in preparation for flight. She did not know for sure what would happen if Mr Van De Graf caught her trying to sneak out. She seriously doubted there was much in the way of a court in Rapture that would prosecute her for breaking her contract, but by that same token she doubted there was much anyone would do much if Mr Van De Graf broke her legs to prevent her from walking away.

Ever since Helena had run off Mr Van De Graf had been more vigilant, lest his stock get it into their heads that they too could leave. Each morning as they left for work he watched them carefully in case for clues that they might be leaving and he now locked them in at midnight. When he announced this new policy, one of the women pointed out that it was a fire hazard and for her trouble she received the back of his hand across her face. Everyone else received a short lecture on how unlikely it was for there to be a fire.

Lupe wished that she had more time to plan because her plan simply consisted of running faster than Mr Van De Graf. She had no reason to believe to that she could run faster than he did, especially while carrying a suitcase, but there wasn't really much else he she could do. She couldn't very well escape out a window and the only exit out of the dormitory was past Mr Van De Graf's apartment/office. He always had the door open and usually sat in a plush leather chair, carefully eyeing the women as they walked past his office, keeping a sharp lookout for anything out of the ordinary.

Realizing that a suitcase would be a hell of a tip of anyway Lupe slipped off her shoes and tucked them into her purse. In case she had to run she didn't want to deal with high heels. Without so much as a glance around what had been her home for over a year she marched down the hall, keeping her eyes dead ahead.

"Hey! Hey!" she heard Mr Van De Graf shout at her as she strode past his door. "You get your ass back here!"

Lupe picked up her pace. She was almost at the exit to the street, which this time of day would be crowded with throngs of other blue-collar workers heading to their jobs. She flung the door open and hurried down the steps without looking behind her.

"Oi! Lupita!" Mr Van De Graf mistakenly called to her. "Where do you think you're going!" Judging from his voice he had gotten out of his chair and was giving chase to her.

The rough paving stones scraped the soles of her feet but she didn't slow down. Lupe pushed her way through a cluster of young men who were enjoying a morning smoke. They cat-called to her but she ignored that as well.

"You are in big trouble missy!" Mr Van De Graf hollered at her. She wasn't surprised that he was able to keep pace with her, but she was hoping that he would be reluctant to tackle a woman in full public view.

Lupe doubted very much that once she way out of his immediate sphere of influence that Mr Van De Graf would do anything much to reclaim her as an asset. She thought that a man who's business model relied on lying to naïve women was unlikely to undertake much in the way of actual effort to collect a wayward indentured slave. It wasn't too far now to the metro station and if she hurried she should catch the next departure on the line to Adranos Place. She hustled past narrow tenement buildings made of wafer-thin lumber, past food stalls with hand lettered signs that tried to make seaweed sound appetizing, past empty oil drums and crates of radio parts waiting to be assembled.

She was within sight of the metro platform when she felt Mr Van De Graf grab her arm and yank her backwards. "Just what do you think you're doing?" he demanded, his face screwed up in anger.

Lupe bashed him in the face with her purse but he didn't let go._ Oh God, oh God, _she began to panic_. I'm going to be trapped in this awful place forever! _"Get your hands off of me!" she shouted. No one paid much attention to her, however, and the mass of people continued to stream past her and Mr Van De Graf without more than a cursory glance.

Mr Van De Graf pulled her closer to him. "I'm going to make an example out of you," he threatened.

Lupe heard the colossal train pull into the station. Mustering up more courage than she thought she had, she punched Mr Van Graf in the face with her free arm. She must have shocked him more than hurt him, but he did let go of her arm in a stunned moment of shock.

She ran up the steps to the platform and hurled herself into the train a split second before the doors closed. Keeping a firm grip on her suitcase still, she turned around to see Mr Van De Graf glaring at her through the glass. She couldn't help but smile since her plan had worked and she was on her way to her own little room now. Lupe did feel bad though, Mr Van De Graf would no doubt be tightening security and the next escapee would probably have a tougher time of it.

Lupe found a seat and slipped her shoes back on, then pulled out a pocket mirror and readjusted her hair. She wanted to look calm and composed for her first day of work for Richard, even though he had said he wouldn't be there when she arrived. She wondered what his wife was like. Lupe supposed that she was beautiful and classy and snobby.

The train ride to Adranos Place involved two transfers and about an hour later Lupe rang the bell to the Stone residence. "Hello," she greeted Dorothy. Lupe had been correct. Dorothy was indeed beautiful, with dark blonde hair pulled back and set with barrettes.

"So, my husband chose you, did he? Don't get yourself interested in him, do you hear? You're here to clean, not flush out his pipes," Dorothy stoutly replied.

"Um," Lupe stuttered, shocked with Dorothy's attitude. _How did she know? _"I wasn't planning on it."

Dorothy pulled the door open and told her to get inside. "First things first," she said with her back turned to Lupe as she sauntered down the hall. "You'll address me as ma'am, like a proper servant would. Even though you're not, and down here we must make do, mustn't we?"

"Yes ma'am," Lupe said and hoped that Dorothy didn't catch the slight sarcasm in her voice.

"Secondly, you must behave a proper servant. Which means do not speak to me unless it's either urgent or I speak to first. I don't want to hear about your thoughts or problems or whatever nonsense you want to go on about, understand?"

"Oh, most certainly," Lupe replied and rolled her eyes.

"Good. I suppose you'll want to be shown to your quarters them, hm?" Dorothy asked.

Lupe wondered exactly what Richard had said which had made Dorothy so hostile to her. A small thrill crept up her spine. Perhaps Richard had said something to make Dorothy believe he fancied her. "Yes, please," she replied honestly, both in answer to Dorothy question and the possibility that Richard found her appealing.

Dorothy said nothing further while leading her down a narrow hallway. They passed a kitchen and a laundry room before coming to the end of the hall. "There," Dorothy said with a chill in her voice. "There's two uniforms in the wardrobe from the previous maid. She killed herself. Should you feel the same urge please not do take concern for my comfort into your decision."

Lupe brushed off Dorothy's not too subtle hint that she should kill herself and instead enjoyed the room. It was small, but there a bed (with an actual mattress unlike the lumpy pallets she had slept on at the dormitory) and a nightstand with a brass-trimmed lamp on it. True to Dorothy's word a slim wardrobe was against the wall and behind a pulled back curtain there was a toilet, a sink with a mirror above it, and a shower head. For Lupe, it was a small slice of heaven.

Lupe set her suitcase on the floor. "Don't get too comfortable," Dorothy said as soon as Lupe stepped inside the room. "There's a lot of work to be done. Change and see me in the kitchen as soon as you can," she ordered. Dorothy left and closed the door behind her.

Lupe quickly took off her modest red dress and black cardigan and changed into the dull grey and lumpy maid's uniform. Apparently the previous maid had been a bit heavier than Lupe because the dress hung off her body like a sack on stick. She tried to refine the shape a bit better by tying the apron around her, but it was still lumpy_. Richard would never go for me in this_, she thought dimly. If she could seduce Richard she might be able to wheedle enough money of out him to escape sooner than she thought. That was what she told herself, that was the reason why she wanted to sleep with him. Not because the more she thought about her meeting with him last night the more infatuated she found herself with him. She resolved to take in her uniform at the first possibility.

In the kitchen Dorothy quickly outlined Lupe's duties and set her to work almost immediately. Lupe's first task was to tidy up the entire house, then to change the sheets, wash the windows, prepare lunch for Dorothy, do the shopping, and then when Richard came home she was to make herself unseen in the kitchen, where she would be set about the task of polishing all of the silverware.

Lupe went about her work, rather slowly considering it was her first day, which gave Dorothy plenty of opportunity to criticize her. However, Dorothy couldn't hide the fact that Lupe was changing the linens on two beds in two separate bedrooms. As she tore the sheets of what she presumed was Richard's lonely bed she could help but feel a twinge of excitement at the implication that Richard was apparently not sleeping with his wife.


	5. Chapter 5 Pain

Pain

Richard could not help put notice that he hadn't noticed Lupe since he came home. Her presence was clear as the living room had been tidied up and someone had clearly bothered to put his shoes in the hall closet, but he hadn't seen so much as her shadow since he crossed the threshold of his house. He read the paper for an hour or so in the living room. Dorothy was longing on the sofa, slowly sipping from a cup of tea and listening to a serial broadcast.

"Did the new girl come over today?" he asked his wife after the show ended.

"Yes," she answered in a crisp monotone.

"Well?"

"Well what?" Dorothy snapped. "What do you want to hear, huh? That she's gorgeous and charming and I will be giving you two your privacy so you enjoy your deviant pleasures with each other? Is that what you want?"

Richard sighed deeply. He had spent the entire day at work trying to reconcile a buggy shipment of transistors with the latest production run. His latest injection of morphine had not been enough to still the agony in his bad leg and he had spent the last several hours in near numbing pain. "Yes, Dorothy, that's exactly what I want. Call her in here, right now, and delineate to her all the nasty things I've asked you to do, because I would bet dollars to donuts she's not nearly as much as a cold-hearted harpy as yourself and will at least put her mouth upon me," he shot at her, funnelling the anger he felt at his own choices at his wife. "Perhaps I can get a better deal for my dollar with her than you, eh?"

"You'd do best to keep your filthy mouth shut," Dorothy replied immediately. "It's bad enough that you have such thoughts, but to share them aloud? You're a beast. That wound and the drugs you pump into yourself has corrupted your mind."

"If you knew half the things I would do to that girl you'd go mad, your puritan mind driven to the point of collapse by delights you'd never entertain. I'd have to send you off to a boobyhatch. And I would consider myself well rid of you." Richard said slowly as he opened up his cigarette case and calmly withdrew a cigarette.

Dorothy arose and smiled at him, her beautiful face tight with stress and hatred. "I wish you had died in the war. Then I would be an honourable widow as opposed the wife of a perverted cripple."

Instead of being offended Richard merely laughed at her. He had gone past the point of being offended by a person he felt such antagonism with. "I bet you do," he replied. "I bet you do."

Dorothy picked up his cane. She suddenly and violently poked him in his wound. "Let that satisfy your needs!" she spat at him.

Richard yelled in pain and ripped the cane from her hand. "You mad bitch!" he hollered at his wife. "Damn you!"

She laughed. "Soothe that with your morphine and your perversions!"

Neither of them noticed Lupe peek into the living room, as she had been roused by Richard's yells from her tasks in the kitchen.

Richard sat up straight, gritting his teeth through the cascading pain. "Don't you ever…" he gasped and shut his eyes while trying to maintain control over his own body. "I've got half a mind to throw you out, right now, this very second, or-"

"Throw me out! You can barely get dressed by yourself, how do you intend to throw me out?"

"I swear to God, Dorothy," Richard said while fumbling for his case of prepared needles. "I swear to God, you'll fucking pay for that." He wildly thrust the needle into his arm, direly needing the relief that the injection offered.

"What? We are trapped with each other," Dorothy said and haughtily picked up her cup of tea. "You've brought me down here, to this watery grave, and you've made me just as miserable as I could ever make you."

Richard said nothing. Instead he leaned back into the arm chair. He could feel the morphine carry his troubles away, away to a place beyond the inky depths of the sea, beyond his lonely bed, beyond himself.

Dorothy shook her head and turned to walk towards the kitchen. Lupe ducked just in time to avoid being seen. Lupe felt a bit guilty for having witnessed such a scandalous and intimate exchange. She busied her hands with the silverware she was supposed to be polishing.

"Are those clean yet?" Dorothy snapped at her.

Lupe shook her head. "No ma'am," she answered shyly.

"What about the dishes? Are those done?"

Lupe nodded. "Yes, ma'am, washed and dried."

Dorothy picked up a dish and closely inspected it. She then picked up a saucer and did the same. She then picked up a juice glass. By this point Lupe had turned her attention from the hostile Dorothy and was concentrating rubbing the small coffee spoons with a smooth cloth the best she could, as there was a shortage of silver polish at the moment.

Lupe suddenly heard a glass smash behind her and she turned in surprise. "Oh, I'll-" she was about to say "get a broom" but Dorothy interrupted her.

"Is it that hard to clean a glass of water spots? Or can you not do that, you worthless slut!" Dorothy screeched at her.

Lupe was speechless. No one had ever spoke to her in such a rude manner, and while she was not expecting to be treated as an equal as a maid, she was not expecting to be so openly harassed either. _Such a lovely little room,_ Lupe reminded herself and bit her tongue. _All the hot water I want. A quiet place to sleep. _"I am sorry, ma'am," she forced herself to say. "I shall do better next time."

"See that you do, or you'll be out of here before you know it," Dorothy pulled open a cupboard violently and retrieved a green unlabeled bottle, then strode out of the kitchen towards the bedrooms.

Lupe was stunned for a moments, but she idly rubbed the spoons still. _What a mean person,_ she thought of Dorothy, _telling her husband she wished he was dead in the war. She hates being here, but that's no excuse._ Lupe's thoughts turned to Richard. Lupe had heard tell of dope fiends dying of too much morphine and her indignation turned to concern. _If he dies, I won't have a friend down here except for Helena. And Helena isn't… _her heart began to beat fast at the thought of Richard. She believed it to be unlikely that with all his problems that Richard would be concerned with her beyond the kindness that he had already showed her.

Lupe heard the door to Dorothy's bedroom slam shut. She tentatively entered the living room and gingerly stepped towards Richard. She had lived a somewhat sheltered life, even considering her adventures in New York, and she wasn't exactly sure what to expect._ He could become like a wild rutting beast, _she thought with a thrill of giddy excitement.

Lupe could see the rise and fall of his chest, so her first worry was alleviated. She bent over him. "Richard?" she whispered into his ear.

His eyes fluttered open lazily. "Mmm?" he moaned vaguely.

"Uh, are you okay?"

He nodded slowly.

"Do you need anything?" she asked softly.

He shook his head. "No. Yes, I mean, I need…" he trailed off and shut his eyes again. "I will be fine, Lupe, don't worry, I know what I'm doing."

"Oh," she answered weakly. "I will let you be."

Richard sighed deeply. "Years," he mumbled. "So long."

Lupe didn't know exactly how to interrupt this. She let him be, as he wished, then retreated to the kitchen. She had not been given orders to prepare anything for supper, but, then again, perhaps she was expected to prepare something on her own. As she had told Dorothy earlier she was not good at cooking, and Lupe nervously darted about the kitchen a while. She had bought, amongst other things, pumpkin and milk while out shopping earlier, and decided to make a pot of pumpkin soup and serve it with bread and smoked herring. If Dorothy did not demand supper, well, she could very well serve the same thing tomorrow. Lupe congratulated herself on her plan and set about preparing the soup.

Several hours later, however, neither Dorothy nor Richard had stirred from their respective nests and Lupe set the tureen of soup into the icebox. She felt a bit sore from a long day of work, albeit no more sore than usual, and was very much looking forward to a hot shower and a good night's sleep when Dorothy suddenly appeared in the kitchen.

Dorothy smiled widely at Lupe. "I've spilled something in the hall," she mumbled and Lupe caught a wiff of cheap gin. "Would you be a dear and clean it up?"

_Spilled? More like threw up_, Lupe thought, but nodded demurely and followed Dorothy out into the hall.

Dorothy gestured to an empty spot on the rug. "Get this cleaned up before you go to bed," she slurred. "I don't want to see a trace of it in the morning."

Lupe scrutinized the carpet for a few moments. "I'm sorry, I don't see it. Maybe it's too dim in the hall?"

"Oh, silly me," Dorothy laughed and then reached on to a shelf and picked up a bottle of india ink. "Well I hate to drag you out here for no reason," she said while dumping the entire bottle on the floor. The ink dribbled onto the rug and the wood floor and a few stray drops leapt onto the cream colored wall.

Lupe's jaw dropped. _What a mean, vicious woman_, _I have not done a thing wrong,_ she raged internally. _I should just turn and go! _The repercussions of her those actions, however, immediately halted her from doing so. If she left there would be no where to go except for the streets.

Dorothy tossed the bottle onto the carpet. "Clean it up before you go to bed!" she shouted, and then shoved Lupe against the wall before storming off to her own bedroom.

Lupe had no choice. She sighed and hurried to the linen room, where she collected an assortment of cleaners to try and clean the ink. She cursed under her breath the whole time. At around one in the morning she was nearly done. Lupe could barely keep her eyes open and she knew she would have to be awake and making coffee in less than five hours.

Lupe didn't dare hope that the situation would improve; instead she hoped that she would get used to it. As she was wringing the sponge out into a pail of grey water she heard the rhythmic tapping of Richard's cane coming towards her. She had been so preoccupied with her own misery that she forgot about Richard.

"You're up awfully late," he commented as he came into the hall.

She turned to him. "Just…cleaning," she murmured weakly. She did want to risk temping Dorothy's wrath further by tattling on her actions.

Richard frowned. "Whatever it is, it can keep until morning. Do you like your room?"

Lupe nodded. "Thank you very much, it's like a little piece of heaven."

He sighed. "Well, I am happy you like it. Good night."

Would you kindly imagine a page break here?

Richard laid in bed for a few moments after he woke up, trying to summon the energy to move. The extra shot of morphine last night had it's effects, and he felt queasy and muddled. At the thought of all the effort required to do such seemingly monumental tasks as shave and put on shoes he groaned and shut his eyes again, then opened them and used what little energy he had left to crawl over to the phone on the nightstand. Each tug on the rotary phone felt like a marathon and he kept the conversation brief, only a sentence to tell his secretary that he would not be in that day as he was ill.

He lay on his back in bed for some time. His leg and hip were throbbing with pain, but he denied himself the morphine. Richard loathed himself for becoming dependant on the drug. If he had eaten anything he would have surely been sick from the withdrawal. He lay in bed, listening to his wife shower and get dressed in the room next door. Anger welled up in his upon his recollections of his wife's behaviour last night. _If I was not a gentleman, _he thought sourly, _I'd beat her with my cane before I divorce her. First thing tomorrow I am sending my secretary to the registrar's office to inquire about the formal procedure. _

He heard the front door slam shut and he was able to relax a bit more knowing that Dorothy was physically far away from him. Richard did not have to wonder where it all went wrong, it all went wrong with a Nazi machine gunner and a heartless gold digger, combined with a city as cold and isolated as Richard was.

"Oh, goodness, forgive me," Lupe sputtered as she opened the door. "I thought you had gone to work already!"

Richard was so lost in his thoughts that he didn't even notice the door open and only noticed her when she spoke. "I am more incapacitated today than usual," he answered dryly and gazed at her. Lupe had an armful of fresh linens and she wore one of the dead maid's shapeless dresses, but that served only to highlight the mystery and taunting pleasure of her fine young body. _She is my servant,_ he thought darkly_, I could make do whatever I wanted, and no one would stop me._ He was horrified at his own cruel thoughts, however, and quickly purged them from his mind.

Lupe adverted her gaze and Richard realized that she was probably uncomfortable with the fact that he slept naked. "I, I will come back later."

Richard sighed. "Can you bring me some coffee please? And the newspaper. I shall probably be in bed all day."

Lupe nodded. "Your leg?"

He hesitated before answering, ashamed of his own limitations. "Yes. Some days it hurts more than others."

Lupe seemed to hesitate as well. "My cousin had polio when he was just a little boy," she rushed to say. "Doctors did not want to give him morphine at such a young age, so they taught my aunt and uncle a way to help with the muscle pain using hot and cold bags full of uncooked rice. Would you like to try that on you?"

"I would, yes." Richard tucked a pillow behind his back and sat up. "First bring my coffee though please."

Lupe scuttled off and Richard immediately set his hands under the sheets. Should she apply the heat therapy directly to his wound there was no way she would miss his erection. He needed to take care of it before she came back. _She is so shy, _he thought while stroking his shaft. _Just seeing me naked made her blush. She probably a virgin. I hope he spills the coffee on the sheets, then I can give her a good spanking for being clumsy. _

_He envisioned Lupe obediently bending over the bed, quivering in anticipation of her punishment. He would pull the shapeless black shift up to her waist, revealing a hidden treasure of supple caramel colored thigh, a sensuously round and plump bottom, protected only by a white cotton underwear. Lupe would yelp slightly as he smacked his hand lightly across her bottom. But her body would show her true delight, and a steadily growing moistness would be evident on her pure white underwear. He would rip the underwear from her and she would gasp._

"_Oh," she would moan in delight as he teased her outer lips with his fingers. "We shouldn't," she would breathe. "I'm sorry I spilled the coffee."_

_But Richard wouldn't listen to her pleas. He would slip his finger into her tight and wet hole. She would squirm as he pushed into her with his finger, one inch at a time. "Have you ever had a man inside you before?" he would ask, but the answer was obvious to him as she was so tight._

"_No," she would answer, and with that statement he would plunge his finger into her and she would cry out in pleasure. "Oh, yes, oh, don't stop!"_

_But he would stop. "Beg me for it," he would say, and then slap her on her bottom again, this time much harder than previously. "Beg me to fuck you."_

"_But," she would cry out again in delight as his hand made contact with her bottom again, which was now flushed pink. "But, it's so big, I'm afraid it will hurt!"_

"_Say it," he would say and the sound of his hand smacking her bottom would reverberate in the room. "Say it. You're so wet, you naughty girl, say you want my cock to split your virgin pussy open."_

"_That's so dirty," she would protest, acting out her part in the fantasy to aplomb. _

"_Dirty?" he would say flatly, and then he would put his finger in her mouth, the finger that had been inside of her earlier. "Go on," he'd urge, "suck your own juice off me."_

_Lupe would obey, of course, and while he was sucking his finger as he had ordered her too, Richard would be gathering her hair up in his free hand, the better to control her with._

"_You dirty girl," he would tell her. "You had your chance to get fucked. Now you must beg to suck me." He would pull her from her position on her stomach via her long, brown hair, so that her head was level with his crotch._

"_Please, please Richard, please let me suck your cock," Lupe would say demurely. "Please let me. I want to drink your cum. I want you to spray into me, I want to-" but her please would be cut off suddenly, for he would jam his throbbing cock into her pretty mouth. He would push it down into her throat. Saliva would burble from her lips and Lupe would gag as he forced it in. His balls would touch her chin._

"_Don't you look pretty," he would comment-_

Richard gasped as he came into a tissue. He balled it up as quickly as possible and wiped off the excess with another tissue. He then tossed them into a waste bin and hoped that Lupe wouldn't noticed his flushed cheeks (which was fairly apparent on his pale skin). He settled onto a pile of pillows and made himself comfortable.

Lupe opened the door a few moments later, bearing a tray with a coffee service and the newspaper and a stack of toast. "Here you are," she said cheerily.

Richard sheepishly avoided her gaze. "Thank you," he said as she set the tray at the nightstand.

"I will need some time to heat and cool down the bags of rice, so, just hold tight," Lupe said and when back to the kitchen.

Richard tried to read the newspaper (which cost a princely sum for each edition) but he was far too distracted to concentrate on anything. He knew that he should be ashamed of himself for firing off a quick one to the image of a desperate girl he had hired out of a pity, but he was too consumed with physical need to worry about it. He just hoped that his ejaculation had been sufficient enough to quell his body's impulses for a while.

Lupe returned with cloth flour bags, one full of uncooked rice that had sat in the freezer, the other the full of uncooked rice that had been warmed in a low temperature oven. "I've got a few more bags in reserve, I will need to switch them out every ten minutes or so," she said. "Now, how are we going to do this?"

Richard shrugged. "I haven't got any clothes on," he said. "If you feel uncomfortable with this I can do it myself."

Lupe shrugged off his suggestion. "Don't worry about it. Unless you are uncomfortable?"

He grinned. "I'll pretend you're a nurse." He noticed with pleasure that she smiled slightly. "An old, fat nurse. A nun."

Lupe laughed. "Pull the sheet aside and cover up your-your manliness," she said.

Richard pulled the sheets aside. No one other than the nurses in Germany and Dorothy had seen his wounds, but Richard's eagerness for genuine relief from his pain was more powerful than his embarrassment.

"They certainly got a piece of you, didn't they?" Lupe said solemnly.

Richard nodded. It oddly felt good to talk about it with someone who didn't hate him for daring to live through it. "The doctors thought I might not walk again at all, or that I would be paralyzed."

Lupe sat on the side of the bed. "Always start with hot," she said. "I'm going to put it on, if it's too hot, tell me," she said.

She laid the sack over the bulk of his scarred and sunken leg. The temperature was high, but the warmth was welcome. "Feels good," he said in gratitude.

"Can I asked what happened?" Lupe asked.

"Not much to tell. This was in the final days. I had seem some action, but not much. I had only been of age for a short while anyway, and when I got over there my unit was charged with sweeping up after the real fighting had already gone through. I was in the infantry, and we were ordered to take Dorsten after an air raid. Mostly pockets of Nazis here and there, a few units that hadn't fallen back yet or had become separated from their COs or their COs were dead."

"I was in the infantry, and we were ordered to take Dorsten after an air raid. Nazi snipers got a few of the men in my unit, but we were not expecting much resistance. We weren't expecting many people to even be alive, just some scared civilians. Well, I wasn't at least. I turned a corner and walked right into the line of fire of a machine gun nest."

"They took me to the field hospital that had been set up in a potato field. I nearly bled to death before I got there. I don't remember much, except that I thought I was going to die. And I wasn't even worried about dying, because there was no way that death could hurt more than that. But, I didn't die, obviously, and I got shipped back home. That's about it." Richard summed up.

Lupe moved the bag so that it heated a different section of flesh and said nothing.

"Pretty stupid of me, hm?" he said, almost to himself. "To give up my health and fitness for what? For nothing," he answered his own bitter question.

"Oh, I don't think so at all," Lupe rushed to say. "You're a hero."

Richard scowled. "Don't lie to me to make me feel better, I know I'm a fool."

"I'm not lying," she said shortly. "You helped to stop an evil empire. My bunkmate is a Pole, and she told me about all the horrible things that the Nazis did in her country, especially to the Hebrews. No one alone could have stopped them, but you and all the other men did so together. Nothing gets done by one man alone, no matter how much they like to pretend down here that that's true."

Richard exhaled slowly. "You think so?"

Lupe nodded. "Of course. If you weren't willing to risk yourself, then the Nazis may have won. If brave men like you weren't willing to risk themselves, then no one would have fought them. You didn't lose your leg for nothing, you lost it so that an evil empire would be ground into the dust. That's a hero."

No one had ever quite put it like that to Richard before, and he felt his muscles relax somewhat. It felt very nice indeed. "I've been a cripple since I was eighteen," he said. "My wife doesn't think I'm a hero, she thinks I am pathetic."

Lupe paused before replying. "Maybe she did understand the seriousness of the war." Lupe gingerly started to massage the edges of the wound. "Does that feel good?"

"Yes," he answered.

Lupe sighed. "I understand the seriousness of it. My family had to leave Argentina when I was young. There was a lot of trouble in the government, and my father was worried that fascists might win. He saw what the Nazis were like when they had come to power, so he thought America would be safer. But, if we hadn't had left, perhaps my country would be overrun by maniacs, and I need saving by brave man such as yourself. So no, I don't think you are pathetic, I think you are the definition of hero; someone who sacrifices himself for others."

Richard smiled. "How do you know that I am not going to go and tell everyone that you're a bleeding heart altruistic communist who wants everyone to work together for the common good, who thinks that the best thing a man can do is sacrifice himself?"

"Because, you're a good man, and…" she stopped massaging him. "And I don't think you believe any of this nonsense about the great chain either."

"Lupe, please, I'm serious, you can't go around saying these sort of things. Ryan has got a secret police to uncover people who don't agree with him."

"Just like Hitler did," she remarked sagely.

"Yes, just like he did," Richard answered solemnly. "If anyone reports you talking like that you'll get dragged off to God knows where and for God knows what."

"You're in trouble too," she replied. "You aren't supposed to be talking about God either."

A strange feeling stirred in Richard. A mixture of fear and affection, a swirling concoction of hope and dread. "I would hate to see something happen to you," Richard said slowly. A sinking feeling came to him, that she was too willing to share her thoughts and feelings, that something bad would happen to her. "Please, watch what you say."

Lupe began to massage his leg again. "All right, I will."

"Good. And, it's not that I disagree with you, but, I don't want to lose anything else on top of my health. There was an engineer at my firm who was arrested for speaking out against Ryan over his policy on not letting anyone leave. He just disappeared. Then these men came to our offices and looked through our mail and papers. Someone at work must have tattled on the engineer. Dissent is not tolerated, Lupe, and…and you're a pretty young girl. I don't believe that the secret police would treat you with proper respect, if you get my meaning."

Lupe didn't reply. Richard thought that he had been too harsh, that he had perhaps scared her, but he also felt that she needed to be aware of the stark reality of the situation.

"My leg feels much better," he said after a few moments of heavy silence. "Thank you."

Lupe removed the hot bag and replaced with the chilled one. "I have chores to do," she said meekly. "I'll check in on you from time to time and switch the sacks. Please excuse me."

Richard was left alone, sullenly reflecting on the fact that he had already managed to mess up this relationship as well.


End file.
